Resonance and Oscillation
by The Voice in the Wilderness
Summary: A very AU bit of science-laden smut, strange as that is to say. A gift for a once-friend who admired Tesla and Inu-cest. Yes, I am a whore for my work. It would be helpful to know a bit about the the work and life of Nicola Tesla, but not mandatory.


_All "InuYasha" characters belong to Rumiko Takahashi and associated copyright holders. No money is being made from this fan fiction. No infringement is intended._

_Any object, when exposed to a crescendo of its resonant frequency, after a long enough time will break._

_- The principle behind the life of Nicola Tesla_

How long can I last before I too break? Your mouth knows no off switch, no circuit breaker and so, word after word, sentence after sentence my inner resonance begins to slowly ramp up. I have been staring down the bore of long days and nights, trying to harness the ultimate power within all things of this world, yet the incessant whine that passes your lips in careless interruption of my thoughts threatens my straining concentration to dangerous levels. You are the flash bulb of a camera wielded by a tourist stupidly blinding the eyes of the speeding train's conductor! Do you not know what might happen if I take my eyes from this machine? Do you even understand how to care?

You pass me where my tall form is bunched into careful precision and think to persuade me into giving you what you want. I don't see you – I don't need too. Like the alternation of electric waves along their conduits, so too are your irritations always everywhere at once! You are an oscillation I cannot turn off, a switch I cannot reverse and so, when your half naked form saunters by my work table yet again and you 'accidentally' whip my arm with your long silver hair, my resonance increases and my inner vibrations become more ragged, less than perfect.

That is something I cannot allow – less than perfect!

So much easier is it to rescue those sick or injured birds, such as that last young girl who had been found; so alone and broken. Solder the soul with care, lavish it with benevolent inattention and the broken wing, leg or heart mends as Nature prescribes. When Rin finally flew away, the inventive spirit left me, shell-shocked and vacuous. But the gas within the tube of my soul can still be excited if enough power is passed through it – you, little brother are the very irritating splinter of that very truth!

"Kiss me, you frigid prick – I'm bored."

GO AWAY! The wine glass of my soul is nearly tearing itself apart as you thoughtlessly turn up the volume of that special frequency that only you, InuYasha, are capable of. My eyes cannot see you, but the flowing, falling flood of my blood, spinning great turbines of despised desire seek to force an arc straight into you, to repel me once again from my solemn pursuit.

You teasingly run your claws down my bent back in obnoxious selfishness, demanding my touch and my anger. I can almost hear the high-ringing pitch and then, when you hand travels from my back to my lap, the glass within me shatters! Growling, snarling animal obscenities as I flash from my stool and throw you bodily to the lab wall I hate you more than I have ever hated anything down the spiraling centuries of our lives. But there is nothing to do within eternity that is not routine and so, this must be ours, my little brother, little demon. There is no invention in our steady-state lives. There are only pulses of cyclical hot and cold, lust and disinterest, and like the stator in my motor, we turn around these poles and accomplish the mechanized work of our lives.

I see you hold yourself up against the peeling paint of the decrepit bricks. Your eyes are regretting the careless audacity you showed when you began to sound my soul – but the hard, insistent flesh between your trembling thighs craves the forking chaos that I bring as I arc into you, bruising your pelvis with my own as I grind you harder into the concrete reality of this world. You, who would deny me the fire-flashing, mental realm of elemental power and the pursuit of its enslavement, will now receive an intimate tour of the base, corporeal world into which you have once again stranded me with your asinine lust!

The feel of your hungry, trembling hands upon my body lies to me; you fake your fear just as you always have. The direct current of your mind only travels one way and without the way stations of my rare outbursts, which you use to reinvent and broadcast yourself into a thousand derivative forms, I know you would fade into the white noise of our long lives. The incandescent bulb of your ego would be extinguished without my purpose, my power-driven current. You won your battle but you lost the war long ago, InuYasha!

So here, my dear little brother – I give you what you want. Bent hard and held fast over an empty lab table, I beat the flickering light of desire and anger and fate and boredom and life out of and back into you. Your thankful, relieved and lust-driven tears stain the blotter of my work table and spread like the fan of static held within dry, still air. I will use you: on your knees, against the wall, perhaps even take my angry, disgusted fill of your tight limber body against my great towering coil – all the while knowing I have discovered nothing to fill the vacuum tube of your soul.

The repetition of this endless yet temporary epiphany of parasitic purpose angers and disgusts me, yet ever the scientist, I see beautiful illustrations of the principles already discovered in our frenzied, violent coupling; the piston pump of my cock in your ass, the tendency of your body to stay in motion once it begins to spasm and quake in crying orgasm, the conservation of mass in livid action as you eagerly swallow all that I can give you. But now I wrestle with new forces and principles – and these forces, my dear brother, don't take kindly to you. It's a brave new world and you'd better find a way adapt, else go the way of the phonograph – down into the darkness of obsolescence. That is why you anger me so; your interruptions in my life are driven by flawed equations and endless quandaries which you seek to fill at the expense of my own quest for universal, energy-driven perfection and yet when I try to illuminate the empty vault of your soul, you care only for a moment's spark of pleasure. You care nothing for the generator; you care only for the instant light once the switch is flipped!

I have fathomed more mysteries than anyone in this age but I cannot find the resonance within the brittle cold-forged rivets of your soul, InuYasha. To shake you apart completely so that you can be remade on a foundation to last. Yet every time you unconsciously goad me into trying, our sounds and pitch are too close and should I seek to completely tumble down the building of your soul, I know I too will topple into pieces. It's a machine that once turned on, no sledgehammer's stroke could hope to save us from ourselves.


End file.
